


Manipulations and Mind Games

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon his release from prison, Will is determined to prove that Hannibal is the one responsible for the Chesapeake Ripper murders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Look Good in Orange

Will blinked as he walked outside, refusing to look behind him. He'd left that prison cell behind for good; he didn't want to look back at the past.

He didn't want to remember the time he'd spent behind bars.

It would be hard to forget those hours, those days, those weeks. Had it only been a matter of weeks? It had seemed like much longer. Each passing day had felt like a lifetime, and he'd been so sure that he would grow old and die there.

But he hadn't. He was alive, and he was free. He'd been proven innocent, ironically by the same man who had put him there in the first place.

Will didn't know why Hannibal had apparently decided that he didn't belong in jail. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hannibal had been the one to frame him. His emerging memories of what had been done to him were proof of that.

He would prove Hannibal's guilt to the world, if it was the last thing he did.

That wouldn't be easy to do, but somehow, he would manage it. He would find the clues that eventually led to Hannibal, and present them coherently.

That monster had manipulated him, lied to him, used him, played mind games with him. Never again, Will vowed. Never again would he let himself be made a fool of in such a way. Never again would anyone be able to pull the wool over his eyes so thoroughly.

But it hadn't been so thoroughly, had it? he asked himself. He'd always known that there was something .... well, _not quite right_ about Hannibal.

Why couldn't everyone else see that?

Everyone else still seemed to think that Hannibal was a great guy, that he wouldn't possibly have framed Will for murder. No one saw behind the mask.

But _he_ did. His memories were damning evidence; he _knew_ what Hannibal had done. He might not have all the pieces of himself back yet, and he might not know the whole story. But he _knew_ that Hannibal Lecter was the epitome of evil.

The man was a monster, and he was going to prove it. He didn't know how yet, but he would. He would make sure that Hannibal ended up behind bars.

That was where he belonged. _He_ would be the one wearing that orange suit, the one who would be a prisoner for the rest of his life. 

Will's lips twisted in a wry parody of a smile at the thought. He himself would have been given the death penalty if he'd been found guilty, executed as a murderer. But Hannibal .... no, he would live the rest of his life in prison, at the public's expense.

For some reason, he would be deemed as too "good" to execute, even though he richly deserved death for all the evil atrocities that he had committed.

He would wear that orange jumpsuit for all of his life.

Will smiled grimly at the thought. Hannibal wouldn't look nearly as good in that horrible orange color as he himself had, he told himself, in a rare moment of vanity.

But it was true. Hannibal wouldn't look nearly as imposing out of his expensive suits, and hopefully, the monstrous side of who he was would be on full display, front and center, once he was stripped of all of the civilized trappings that made people respect him.

Hannibal wasn't worthy of respect. The thought was venomous, but Will didn't care. It was the truth. There was nothing good or decent about Hannibal.

He was pure evil. And Will intended to prove it.

Only an evil monster would have done what Hannibal had tried to do to him. Only someone who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever would commit multiple murders and try to frame an innocent man for them -- someone who had thought he was their friend.

At least that monster was now under suspicion, which was a step in the right direction. He just hoped that his memory would come back and help to seal Hannibal's fate.

Without those memories, there would be no substantial proof that Hannibal had framed him. And even then, there would be a lot of people who'd insist that he was making it all up, and that Hannibal couldn't possibly be that devious, that evil.

But Will knew that he was. And somehow, he would prove that to the world.

He didn't know how just yet, but he'd manage to do it. Hannibal Lecter would be the one in the cage, in that orange jumpsuit, envying Will his freedom.

Hannibal could be the one to have long one-sided conversations with Chilton. He could try to play his mind games from a prison cell, try to manipulate people from there. He wouldn't be successful, and without that diversion, he would slowly go insane.

Will couldn't help but smile again at that thought. Hannibal would suffer the fate that he'd intended for Will. It was definitely poetic justice.

And he would grow to hate that orange jumpsuit just as much as Will did.

Will's spirits lifted as he took a deep breath of the fresh, clean air of the outside world. Hannibal wasn't going to look good in orange. That much, he was absolutely sure of.


	2. Monster in HIs Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't need dreams to tell him that Hannibal is a manipulative monster.

Will's eyes snapped open, his gaze focused at the ceiling above.

It took him a few moments to catch his breath, to calm his racing heart. A dream. It had only been a dream. He wasn't lying on a table in Hannibal's kitchen. There was no tube snaking down his throat, no horribly ugly, reptilian face staring smugly down at him.

He wasn't Hannibal's victim. That was in the past. It was only his dreams that took him back to those horrible times; they were gone for good.

He took one deep breath, then another, closing his eyes and trying to push the dream away from him. No, not just a dream -- a _memory_. Why did this particular one always seem to come back to haunt him, with all of its attendant sensations and fears?

Because it was the only memory that had been clear so far.

There were others; Will was sure of it. Hannibal wouldn't have stopped there. He had to have done more. He wouldn't have simply stopped there.

No, a monster like Hannibal got off on having his victims completely under his control, and Will didn't doubt that other things had been done to him when his mind had been more or less asleep. He was sure that there was much more, just underneath the surface.

He would find it, whatever he had to do. It wouldn't be considered cold hard evidence of Hannibal's guilt, but at least he himself would know the truth.

He would never get the truth from Hannibal. He was sure of that. He would only get more evasions and lies, protests of a friendship that had never existed.

His lips twisted in a cynical parody of a smile at that thought. Hannibal didn't know how to be a friend. He only knew how to manipulate and play mind games; there was nothing friendly about that. It was terrifying, and the man was a menace to society.

Will knew that he'd murdered Abigail. He knew that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, no matter what anyone else might believe. He knew it in his gut. 

He didn't need dreams to tell him that.

The problem was going to be to get other people to believe what he already knew to be fact. He had to put his memories together, piece by piece, had to relax himself enough to let them come flooding back. He had to figure out what was real and what was a lie.

If he couldn't put those pieces back together and produce something coherent out of them, if he couldn't find the truth, then Hannibal would stay a free man.

That wasn't going to happen, Will thought, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. Hannibal was guilty, and he'd prove that guilt. He would _make_ others see what he saw. He would rip that human mask away, and reveal the monster beneath.

The monster that he always saw in his dreams was real. And he would prove it.


	3. Imperfect Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has always disliked having a near-perfect memory, but now that there are gaps in that memory, he regrets the loss.

He had always hated having a near-perfect memory.

That memory had always served him well before, Will thought with a sigh, rolling over in bed to stare up at the ceiling. But now, it was driving him crazy.

The gaps in his memory -- gaps created by Hannibal -- were starting to worry him. He had thought that all of those memories would come flooding back, or at least come back to him piecemeal. But he'd been sure that he _would_ eventually get them back.

But now, he wasn't so sure any more. It didn't feel as though any of them were coming back, and the ones that did were blurry and confused.

It felt as though he had lost a great of who he was.

That was what Hannibal had been after all along -- to take pieces of who he was, to twist his mind until it didn't feel as though it belonged to him any more.

The evil monster who had claimed to be his friend might have damaged him for the rest of his life by taking those memories away from him, Will told himself. And what's more, Hannibal's machinations could have _killed_ him.

How could that bastard claim to be his _friend_ , when he'd nearly killed him by literally _giving_ him a potentially fatal disease like encephalitis?

Hannibal was no one's friend. Hannibal could only be an enemy, a snake in the grass that struck out when it was least expected.

Will hated knowing that his once nearly perfect memory had been sabotaged, damaged, possibly destroyed by that monster. It might have been a burden to have a memory that good, but now that he'd lost parts of it, he'd come to realize just how useful it was.

The worst thing about losing those memories was feeling that he was no longer a complete person, that he was flailing about sightless in the dark.

When memories _did_ come back, he didn't know if they were real or not.

Could some of what he thought he remembered simply be parts of the visions that Hannibal had induced with those seizures? He had no way of knowing.

Reality had blurred for him when he tried to look back and retrieve those memories; nothing _felt_ real any more. It all seemed like some crazy, impossible dream, a vision out of his worst nightmares. He didn't know what was real and what was fiction.

But somehow, he _would_ get those memories back, Will vowed to himself. No matter what he had to do, he _would_ put the puzzle back together.

And he would never let anyone disarrange those pieces again.


	4. Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to force Hannibal to give him back the missing pieces of his memory, no matter what he has to do.

These gaps in his memory were so irritating, Will thought with a frown as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and sighing softly with frustration.

No, they weren't just irritating, they were downright maddening. He would feel that he had a memory just at his fingertips, he would strain to bring it into focus, and then it would slip away, just when he had been on the very verge of grasping it and bringing it out into the light.

It was like seeing images on film, clicking past before his eyes, vague and blurry images that he couldn't quite bring into focus in the brief glimpse he had of them.

Had anything ever been so annoying? Will didn't think so. It was driving him crazy, trying to bring all of those images into focus and put them into some kind of coherent order. His mind was scrambling this way and that, unsure of which direction to take.

He _needed_ to bring those vague images into focus, to place them in his memory, to have them go sharp and clear so he could view them properly.

And he was afraid that would never happen.

He needed for those images to fall into place; if they didn't, then he was afraid that he would never feel like an entire person again. He would still be here, still going through the motions of life, but he would be less than a man, a cardboard cut-out of himself.

Will didn't want to feel that way. It was already starting, and the more he kept trying to push that sensation away, the more it persisted in trying to wrap around him.

He hated feeling that he was missing pieces of himself. He hated knowing that there were incidents that he couldn't remember, things that Hannibal knew that he was still in the dark about. He hated stumbling around in that darkness, feeling that he would never see light again.

Hannibal was the only one who could bring light into that darkness.

But Will didn't want to see him again. He didn't want to face that hideous reptile, to let Hannibal know that he needed so badly to get back those missing pieces of himself.

Of course, Hannibal already knew that; he was simply waiting for Will to come to him. He wanted Will to say that he had won; he wanted to hear the words. He wanted Will to acknowledge that he needed help, and that he couldn't find those missing pieces on his own.

Just another one of Hannibal's manipulations, more of the mind games that Will so hated to play. Well, this time, he wasn't going to be a participant.

He didn't want to give Hannibal the satisfaction.

Will's lips thinned into a firm line. This time, the game would be played _his_ way.

He'd let Hannibal manipulate him far too much in the past; that wasn't going to happen again. This time, that bastard would find out that the tables had turned.

No way was he going to let Hannibal win. He was done with being used, being manipulated. For once, _he_ was going to be the one who held all the cards. Will wasn't entirely sure how he would manage that, but somehow, he'd do it.

For now, he had to concentrate on getting those images in his mind to coalesce, to form more of a cohesive whole, instead of just fleeting pictures.

Not even entire pictures, at the moment. Only bits of them.

It was like seeing images on a roll of film flash by, images that he couldn't quite see but that he knew were there. Images that flashed past him in a heartbeat, in a second. He _had_ to make them slow down, had to view them clearly.

That was going to be almost impossible, unless the images would stop clicking by so fast. They had to be slowed down, had to be studied and contemplated.

Those pieces had to be put back together, carefully, painstakingly, until he had a complete picture in his mind. Hannibal could supply a lot of those missing pieces, but Will knew that his nemesis wouldn't do that. Hannibal wouldn't make this easy for him.

That thought almost made him snort aloud.

Of course Hannibal wouldn't make anything easy for him. Hannibal would dangle those memories just out of reach, simply to watch Will grab for them -- and miss.

He didn't know exactly how he would get Hannibal to admit what he'd done, how he had manipulated Will and managed to screw up his life -- but he would do it. He would get an admission out of Hannibal, one way or another -- or what amounted to an admission.

Hannibal was the one responsible for the murders he had tried to frame Will for. He was the Chesapeake Ripper. Will _knew_ it. And he would prove it.

He would make sure that Hannibal Lecter was put away for good, that he spent the rest of his life behind bars. He didn't know how he would manage that, but somehow, he would. it was now his mission in life, the one thing he was determined to get done.

He wasn't going to let Hannibal ruin anyone else's life, or try to fuck with his again. He would make sure that the bastard paid for all of his crimes.

And he _would_ get those scattered pieces of his memory back.

That was really what mattered the most to him at this point. He _needed_ for those pieces to fall back into place. If they didn't, then he would never be a complete person again; he would always be reaching for something that he couldn't hold, couldn't grasp.

Reaching for something that was no longer there.

The thought made Will shudder. He didn't want to think of himself as some kind of half-finished person, only existing in the darkened shadows of his memory.

'Oh, he would look as though he was existing in the real world, but he wouldn't be. It was a terrifying thought, to know that having those memories kept from him, deliberately held out of his reach, could have such an effect on the rest of his life.

Only he wouldn't let them, he told himself firmly. He wasn't going to let Lecter win. Not this time. This time, _he_ was going to be the one to play the mind games.

He would get that admission out of Hannibal, no matter what he had to do. It wouldn't be easy, but he'd manage it somehow. He'd trick Hannibal into it, play the same kind of crafty mind games that Hannibal had managed to ensnare him with.

Again, it wouldn't be easy. He would be playing against a master. Hannibal was more experienced at mind games than he was. He'd been playing them a lot longer.

But Will had learned some things that he intended to put to good use.


	5. The Path of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to find justice not only for himself, but for all of Hannibal's victims.

"What do you want from these sessions, Will?" Hannibal leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "You don't seem as focused as you were before."

Justice, Will thought, his mind almost snarling the word. He wanted _justice_. He wanted to see this monster that sat across from him in an expensive suit, almost smirking, put behind bars where it belonged, like the vicious animal that it was.

Not only for himself, but for all of Hannibal's victims.

He wanted to see this monster suffer for what it had done, the way it had used people. He wanted to see this thing have its freedom taken away, just as he himself had.

Hannibal had never been forced to suffer the consequences of his actions. He had gotten away scot-free with everything he'd done, every evil act he had committed, and he apparently thought that he had the _right_ to commit such atrocities.

It made Will feel sick to sit here and look at that smug, ugly, reptilian face. He hated having to be in the same room with this monster, this snake, this .... _creature_.

Hannibal Lecter was vile, Will thought to himself, struggling not to let his hands ball into fists as he thought of all the tings this viper had done to him. But no more. Hannibal was going to be beaten at his own game, and this time, he _would_ pay for his crimes.

Will didn't know how he was going to manage that when no one would believe him, but he would. Somehow. He would _prove_ Hannibal's guilt.

He'd prove it beyond s shadow of a doubt.

But at the moment, his quest for justice had to move slowly. He had to convince Hannibal that he was ready to trust again, and that wouldn't be easy.

He was fairly sure that Hannibal could guess how he felt, and that the snake would do everything he could to try to charm and disarm him. Will almost snorted in derision at that thought. Hannibal's vaunted charm was never going to work on _him_ again.

There was no use in Hannibal trying to use that charm on him, or to pretend that he cared about how Will felt. Will knew that wasn't so.

This monster had never cared about him. They had never truly been friends.

No, he had only been an object for Hannibal to use, a patsy for him to experiment with and use as the fall guy for the crimes he had committed.

Breaking him, to remake him in Hannibal's own image. He was sure that was what this reptile had wanted; he'd wanted to make Will into something as dark and evil as he was, to exploit the light inside Will until he had managed to extinguish it.

Hannibal coveted what he was because he could never have it, Will told himself. And he would make sure that this creature never had the chance to reach for that light.

Hannibal was a hideous monster who would never do anything but harm people. On the surface, he might pretend to help, but there was always a sinister hidden purpose.

Will knew that he would never trust anything Hannibal did or said any more; he would never be able to look at Hannibal as anything but a repulsive monster. But he had to hold that disgust back, convince Hannibal that their so-called "friendship" could be rebuilt.

That would more than likely be the hardest thing that he'd ever done. Hell, it was hard to sit here in the same room with such a hideous beast.

But he would do it. He would fool this creature, lull it into complacency.

He _would_ find justice, for himself and for the rest of Hannibal's victims. And when he did, he would be proud of what he had accomplished.

"What do I want?" He pretended to think, though he already knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to get Hannibal to confess, even if only obliquely, to all that he'd done, all the lives he'd destroyed, all the murders he had committed. He wanted this monster to hang itself.

"What do I want?" he repeated slowly. "I want things to go back to the way they were before everything went down. I want to put all the unpleasantness behind us."

Could Hannibal tell that those words were a lie? Will didn't think so.

"So, you're not still convinced that I committed all of those horrific crimes simply in order to frame you?" his nemesis questioned, leaning back and fixing WIll with his gimlet stare.

Of course he did, Will thought to himself. But he had to use all of his strength to disseminate now, to make this monster believe that he had truly abandoned his knowledge of what Hannibal was. He had to make this .... this _thing_ believe that they were friends.

This was going to take all of the acting skill that he possessed, Will thought dryly. But he'd pull it off. He had to. So much depended on it.

Other lives would depend on how much he could get Hannibal to reveal. If he was lucky, this monster would let things slip, would brag obliquely about some of what he'd done -- and Will could gather that evidence, put it into context, and eventually go to Jack with it.

He would just have to hope that Jack believed him. If he didn't, then it would take more than just the words Hannibal said to bring him to justice.

There _would_ be justice done. Will would make sure of that.

He would manage, somehow to find justice for every person Hannibal had ever harmed, for every grieving family that had been left behind. Not only those people, but himself as well. He would make sure that this devil masquerading as a human being wouldn't cause any more harm.

Never mind that he wasn't sure yet which direction he should head in. Once he figured that out, he'd move down the path of justice. And nothing would stop him.

"Of course I'm not," he finally answered, the words threatening to stick in his throat. It was so hard to keep up this charade of friendliness, but Will knew that he had to. He couldn't let the mask he was wearing slip. That could prove dangerous, even fatal.

He'd force himself to be friendly. He had a higher purpose in mind.

Eventually, he would be smiling at Hannibal Lecter from the right side of a jail cell. This monster would be trapped behind bars, and he himself could finally gloat.

Will smiled at the thought, knowing that Hannibal would think it was a smile of friendship, with an entirely different meaning. He _would_ find justice. This was only the beginning.


	6. Close the Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal can sense that Will is keeping secrets from him.

Will was keeping something from him. He _knew_ it.

Hannibal didn't think that Will still blamed him for his incarceration -- certainly they were past those ideas, now that Will was a free man again.

After all, he reasoned, Will had come back to their therapy sessions of his own free Will. the proved that Will had no malice towards him; the young man acted as though he had completely changed his mind about his former belief that Hannibal was plotting against him.

Or was Will merely hiding behind his own mask, a mask that Hannibal now had the utmost difficulty in being able to penetrate and see behind?

it bothered him to think that Will was hiding something.

He didn't like the idea that Will could possibly do such a thing. He wanted to believe that he still had the young man firmly under his control.

That was where he wanted Will Graham to be -- under his thumb, so that no matter how he might writhe and struggle, desperately looking this way and that for a means of escape, none would be found. Will was exactly where he belonged, where he was meant to be.

Will was _his_ , to do with as he chose. He could manipulate this lovely young malleable mind in any way that he chose, make Will do whatever he wished.

But there was a niggling little doubt in the back of his mind that insisted such complacency on his part could be dangerous, and that his assumptions were no longer true.

 _Was_ Will still under his control? Or had the young man come to his senses, as though he'd been able to throw off the blinders of friendship that had once covered his eyes and distorted how he saw the person he thought was his friend?

Hannibal frowned at that thought, but he knew that it could be the truth. He had once been able to read Will like a book, but now, that was growing harder to do.

If he couldn't read Will, then that spelled danger.

He _needed_ to be able to read Will, to turn the pages of his thoughts like a book, seeing into them and knowing what was on Will's mind.

Now that he couldn't do that, he would have to be far more careful with this young man. Will was starting to exercise his own mind and his own will, resisting Hannibal's control as he'd never done before. That could prove to be very dangerous -- as much so for Will as for himself.

He would have to find a way to regain that control he'd always had, or he would have to begin writing the last chapter of Will's life -- and then close the book.

That was something he found himself very reluctant to do.


	7. Zugzwang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to find a way to stop Hannibal from killing again -- no matter what the cost to himself might be.

He was going to have to consider his next move very, very carefully.

Will sat back with a sigh, trying to relax, leaning his head against the cushions of the couch and closing his eyes. Hannibal knew that there was something different about him. It was obvious that the other man had suspicions, and that wasn't a good thing at all.

He had to be more careful, had to make Hannibal think that he had no suspicions. His life might depend on it, and he couldn't take any risks.

But wasn't taking risks what this little dance with Hannibal was all about? If he didn't risk anything, then there was no reason for him to be playing this game. If he didn't put anything on the table, then Hannibal wouldn't pick up the gauntlet.

This wasn't a game. It never had been.

Oh, it was probably a game to Hannibal, he thought. Hannibal saw everything as a game, one that he was going to win. He never thought that he could lose.

That was going to be what tripped him up in the end, Will told himself. His own hubris, his own pride and egotism. He thought that he was so much better than everyone else, that all humans other than himself were worms and that he had the right to lord it over them.

Hannibal would find out that he was wrong, and Will wanted to be there, to have a front-row seat, when he was brought down and cut down to size.

Right now, he had a lot of options open. But Will knew that things wouldn't stay that way; dealing with a monster like Hannibal Lecter wasn't going to be easy. He already knew that from what Hannibal had put him through in the past; he would have to watch his back.

It would be all too easy for Hannibal to enclose him in a trap, as he'd done before. He had to be more wary and careful than he'd ever been.

This situation could so easily turn bad in every respect.

If he wasn't careful, he'd be entrapped in a kind of zugzwang, where every decision he made was a bad one, and every choice led to nothing but disaster. Hannibal had managed to catch him in a situation like that before; he had to avoid it this time around.

He couldn't let down his guard for even a moment. He had to constantly remember what kind of a devious mind he was dealing with, and act accordingly.

Will knew that even one wrong move in this game could spell disaster for him; it was like playing chess, the pieces intricately arranged, any number of moves capable of spelling victory -- or defeat. He had to be able to visualize those moves, to keep one step ahead.

This situation could be even more dangerous than he'd thought.

Hannibal was a killer. He would stop at nothing to protect himself; Will already knew that. Hannibal had already proven that he didn't care who he harmed.

Will had thought that they were friends, had actually been foolish enough to think that Hannibal cared about him. He'd been proven wrong when his so-called "friend" had set him up, framed him, and sent him to prison for crimes that he was innocent of committing.

Hannibal would have let him die. He would have let Will receive the death penalty for those crimes, would have let an innocent man perish for his evil.

That wasn't friendship. That was nothing but pure evil, and though it had been done in self-preservation, that carried no weight with Will.

He had nearly been the victim of an evil, scheming murderer, someone who had no respect for human life. His own life would have been forfeit to that evil, and though Hannibal might have pretended to feel a certain sadness at the loss of that life, he wouldn't have really cared.

Hannibal was incapable of caring, incapable of emotion, incapable of even the slightest bit of human feeling or decency. He was a monster in every sense of the word.

And Will was determined to see that monster vanquished.

But at the moment, he was unsure of which way to turn. Did Hannibal suspect that he was hiding his real feelings behind a mask of friendship? Did that devious mind even suspect what was going on in Will's own mind, the malice he bore towards Hannibal?

If his nemesis had even the slightest conception of the hatred that Will felt towards him, he would show no mercy, and no hesitation.

He wouldn't just look for a way to put Will behind bars this time. Hannibal would try to kill him, and Will had no doubt that he would keep trying until he succeeded. So his only option was to make sure that Hannibal was behind bars before he could attempt to do so.

He had to make sure that monster was locked away for good.

Not only for his own safety, but for the safety and well-being of so many other people as well, Will thought to himself. He had to keep Hannibal from killing again.

He only hoped that he wouldn't have to sacrifice himself in the process. From another person's point of view, that might be a small sacrifice; but it was _his_ life that could hang in the balance, and that life was precious to him, even though it might not seem like much.

On the outside, his life might not look as though he had much going for him, but to him, that life was full, and he had no intention of giving it up.

But at the moment, it seemed like every path he could turn down was fraught with danger. He didn't want to put anyone else in Hannibal's path, but everything that he could see clearly as a result of any decision he made might involve doing just that.

It wasn't right to expect anyone else to take on the danger that he knew he could be in, not fair to expect them to embrace the zugzwang that he had to consider his own.

No matter what he did, there would be some sort of loss, some damage done.

That zugzwang couldn't be avoided, at least not for himself. But he would make damn sure that no one else had to suffer any losses; there had already been too many of those for the families of innocent people who Hannibal had murdered. There would be no more.

As much as he hated the idea of being a sort of sacrifice, even if it didn't mean giving his life away, he'd do it to avoid more killing, more innocent people dying at Hannibal's hands.

He wasn't a hero, Will reflected. He never had been, and never would be, no matter who might look at him in that light. But he had a job to do, as an FBI agent, and part of that job was protecting people, saving lives. He would do that job, no matter what it took.

No matter what the cost to himself might be.

Will opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Even though it seemed as if he would lose no matter which way he turned, he was determined to change those odds.

He wouldn't let Hannibal win. Not this time. That monster had taken too many innocent lives, and wrecked the lives of the families that had been bereaved. He had destroyed too much to be allowed to keep doing so; it was past time for him to be put behind bars, where he belonged.

And regardless of the zugzwang that felt as though it was closing in around him, Will knew that he was the only person who could do that.

If the cost was too high, then he would have to live with it.


	8. Winter Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will needs to make Hannibal believe that prison has changed him -- for the worse.

"How does it feel to be free again, Will?"

Will almost smiled at the question; Hannibal should know the answer to that one. He should say just what the other man expected to hear.

"It feels ...." He shrugged, unsure of just what to say, how to go on. "It feels .... the obvious word would be 'free,' but that doesn't quite fit. I mean, I'm obviously free, aren't I? But that's not what I mean. It feels like I've .... been freed from some of the other concerns I used to have."

"And what would those concerns be?" Hannibal asked, one eyebrow rising in a curious expression. "I'm sure that being in prison changed you, Will, but just how much?"

Will shrugged again, trying to give the impression of nonchalance.

He had to be very careful now; he couldn't afford to let Hannibal see even the slightest chink of weakness in him. He had to be cautious about everything he did and said.

The slightest slip could alert Hannibal to his treachery, and if that happened, he doubted that his life would be worth much -- or that it would last for much longer. Hannibal had already proven that Will's life meant nothing to him by framing him and sending hm to prison.

He would make this monster pay for that, he vowed silently. Forcing his mind back to the conversation at hand, he considered his next words before he spoke again.

"It feels .... liberating, for lack of a better word," he said slowly. "And you're right -- jail _did_ change me a lot." He faced Hannibal squarely, looking into those fathomless dark eyes and holding back a shudder at the utter emptiness he saw there. " _You_ changed me."

Hannibal shook his head with a sadness that Will knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was feigned. "Will, you aren't still holding on to the fallacy that I framed you."

Oh, it wasn't a fallacy. It was the clear, unvarnished truth.

But he couldn't say that now, couldn't let Hannibal know how much he was utterly despised by the young man sitting across from him. He had to make Hannibal believe that he _had_ changed in all of the ways that Hannibal had hoped for.

Slowly, he shook his head, hoping that he looked and sounded believable. "Not for the reasons that I was thinking you did at first," he murmured, the words almost a challenge.

There. He wanted to see what Hannibal would have to say to _that_. He had thrown down a gauntlet; now it was up to Hannibal to pick it up and accept the challenge, to move this duel forward. He'd played his cards; his hand was on the table. Time for Hannibal to reveal his cards.

"It was a long, cold winter for you in there, was it not, Will?" The words were quiet, whispered.

Will nodded, his gaze not wavering from Hannibal's. "Yes, it was," he answered, his own voice just as quiet and hushed. "Winter kills, Hannibal. It killed something in me .... And it brought out something else. I know what it is now to live with darkness closing in around me."

Hannibal nodded, a small smile curving his lips, as though Will had said exactly what he wanted to hear. Will almost held his breath waiting for his next words.

"That was what you were intended to discover, Will," he said, his voice almost hypnotic in its intensity. "No one can know the heights that they are capable of until they have reached the depths. That winter you lived through was not in vain, I assure you."

No, Will told himself. It definitely hadn't been in vain.

That long, cold, hopeless winter had shown him what hopelessness was like -- and it had taught him that there was a spark in him that couldn't be extinguished.

It had shown him that he had a toughness within him that he hadn't counted on, an indomitable spirit that couldn't be crushed ro conquered. And now that he was a free man again, that spirit was going to rise up and fight against the injustices that had been perpetrated against him.

But not in the way that this monster wanted him to fight. No, he would battle those injustices in his own way -- and he would emerge the victor.

"I've discovered that I don't much care about the outside world as much as I thought I did," he said, his own words surprising him. He didn't mean them, of course; they were merely a cover for the trap he and Jack were so carefully laying for this devil to fall into.

It was Hannibal that he didn't care anything about, not the rest of the world. It was Hannibal who he wanted to see suffer, Hannibal who should pay for his own crimes.

And he would. Will would see to that, if it was the last thing he ever did.

"So, you have found that darkness can be much more easily embraced than light." Hannibal sounded so self-satisfied that Will wanted to spit in his face.

Hannibal wanted him to embrace that darkness, to become some kind of disciple, an acolyte to evil. Well, that was the impression he would give. He would make Hannibal believe that he was falling under the aegis of that evil. He was a good enough actor to pull it off.

At least, he hoped he was. He would have to pull out all the stops, try his damnedest to make this monster believe that he was turning into a monster himself.

His entire being rebelled at the thought, but he had no choice.

His lfie might depend on it. He was in too deeply now to get out, or to even think of pulling back. It was all or nothing, and he was going for the win.

He looked directly into Hannibal's eyes, letting his lips curve in a smile that he hoped the other man would believe was utterly sincere.

"Winter kills," he whispered. "But it also creates .... in its own image."


	9. Seduced By the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds the act that he has to put on to catch Hannibal completely distasteful.

The clouds had parted, and he was seeing clearly.

Will hated what he was seeing. He hated knowing that he had been so blind, that all of this time, the killer he'd been searching for had been right in front of him.

Not only that, but the killer had been right by his side, pretending to help him. Pretending to commiserate with him when he had been so frustrated over his inability to put a name and face to the Chesapeake Ripper, to be sympathetic when he'd expressed his feelings.

The killer had smiled into his face, had nodded and looked sad when he'd talked about how badly he felt for the families of the victims.

And he'd fallen for it. He'd believed that Hannibal was a decent person.

He wasn't even a person, Will thought with disgust. He was nothing but a monster that wore a human face, a face that had been obscured by clouds.

Now that mask had been ripped away, the clouds dissipating, and he was able to see Hannibal for exactly what he was -- pure evil. WIll hated being around him, hated that he had to associate with him to put his plan to capture that evil and extinguish it into motion.

But he had no other choice, not if he wanted to see Hannibal behind bars where he so rightly belonged. He had to put on this act of friendship against his will.

It made his stomach turn every time he had to be near Hannibal. He didn't want to think of all that this man had done, all the misery he'd caused in the world.

Thinking of that evil made his blood boil, but he couldn't let his true feelings show. He had to keep up the act, had to make Hannibal think that he was changing, that he was becoming what Hannibal intended for him to be, even though everything in him screamed against it.

This was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do -- pretend to emrbace an evil that was completely distasteful to him, pretend to be seduced by his dark side.

Hopefully, the plan would work, and he would be victorious in the end.

He was under so much stress right now; his muscles were knotted tightly, and all he wanted to do was to take a shower and fall into bed.

Though he probably wouldn't be able to sleep, Will thought with a soft sigh. All of this would follow him into his dreams, making him wake with a start, or not letting him fall asleep at all. He would toss and turn, all of these thoughts rushing through his head like quicksilver.

He wished those clouds would obscure his own mind for a while, that he would be able to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep and stay there until the morning.

But even as he thought it, he knew that was a vain hope.


	10. His Last Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will might have had his innocence stripped away, but he's convinced that he gained something in return.

It wasn't going to be easy to convince Hannibal that he had changed.

Will winced as he looked into the mirror, wishing that he didn't look so young and innocent. Even with his hair cut, he still looked like a young, unformed kid.

He wasn't. Not any more. That young man had been reborn in the flames of hell within the Baltimore State Hospital For the Criminally Insane. His innocence was long gone; his belief that people were intrinsically good was being questioned more every day.

He wanted to hold on to that innocence, to that belief that the human race was composed of mostly good people. But it was slipping away from him, a little at a time.

Hannibal had been instrumental in corroding that innocence.

Really, he was surprised that he'd been able to hold on that belief in people as long as he had, given what he saw on a daily basis, and his unique empathic ability.

But yet, he had somehow managed to retain a bit of innocence, even with all of the horrible things he dealt with every day as part of his work. He saw the worst side of human nature, but he hadn't given up on people yet. At least, not until his last confrontation with Hannibal.

He was still struggling with that, still trying not to fall into that darkness that threatened to envelop him, the darkness that beckoned so seductively.

This was a different kind of darkness from what Hannibal had been trying to draw out of him; this was the darkness of despair, the blackness of lost hope.

He couldn't let Hannibal do that to him, Will told himself firmly. That monster had taken away his freedom for a brief period of time, he'd attempted to take Will's mind, and in the end, Hannibal had even tried to take his life. He wasn't going to let Hannibal take everything.

Though at the moment, it felt as though Hannibal had taken his innocence, the last bit of it that remained to him, and crushed it into dust.

He didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to be so irrevocably changed.

But he might as well accept it, Will thought with a sigh. Hannibal _had_ changed him, in so many ways, and there was no going back to who he'd been before.

He might have lost his innocence, but he had gained something else; he had developed a steely resolve to catch Hannibal and put him behind bars, one that hadn't been there before. That resolve had deepened and hardened; it had become a part of his soul.

Will knew that he wouldn't stop until he had achieved that objective. He was going to make sure that the Lecter monster paid for his crimes, if it was the last thing he did.

Though sometimes, he was afraid that it _would_ be his last act.


	11. A Bite of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he has dinner with Hannibal, Will isn't entirely sure of just what he's biting into.

Will faced Hannibal across the table, gazing into the other man's eyes.

"Once you allow yourself to take a bite out of the future, Will, you would be amazed by all that will change," Hannibal murmured, his direct gaze never wavering.

Will found it hard to meet that penetrating gaze; he was afraid that Hannibal would be able to see through his facade, that this monster would know just how he felt, that he would somehow _sense_ the fact that everything about him repulsed Will to the core.

But he had to try to hide how he truly felt; if he couldn't, then his plan to catch Hannibal and put him behind bars would fall apart, and they'd be back at square one.

So he had to keep up this charade, no matter how difficult it was for him.

"Maybe I don't want to take a bite out of the future," he said, stabbing a piece of boiled potato with his fork and lifting it to his lips. "Maybe I just want to take it as it comes."

"But is that entirely possible, now that you have had a taste of what the world outside your parameters has to offer?" Hannibal raised a brow, picking up his wineglass and taking a swallow of the sparkling vintage. "I don't believe you can say that it is."

Will pretended to consider, even as his mind recoiled from Hannibal's words. Hannibal actually _did_ believe that he was turning into a monster.

Well, that was what he _wanted_ the bastard to think. He wanted Hannibal to believe that he would take that bite, that he would become a good little serial killer.

He wanted Hannibal to believe in his transformation, even though he knew that it would never happen. But if this charade had to go on for too much longer, it would become harder and harder for him to keep up that outward image. He didn't know how long he could do it.

Sooner or later, he was bound to make a mistake and clue Hannibal in to the fact that he wasn't becoming a carbon copy, an acolyte, a slave to Hannibal Lecter.

And then, it would all be over in a heartbeat.

He had to keep up this act for as long as he could. And that would include not only taking a bite from the future, but also biting into whatever Hannibal served him.

Was he eating a person now? Will didn't think so; he'd been in the kitchen when Hannibal had prepared the food, and he was sure that it was chicken. He'd watched Hannibal prepare it, and the aroma it gave off as it was roasting made him fairly sure of what it was.

He sank his fork into the meat, taking a bite and glancing at Hannibal. The other man smiled, raising his glass in a salute and taking another sip of wine.

Which made Will wonder just what was in that bite he had taken.


	12. No More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tells Will that time has run out for them in their cat and mouse game to trap Hannibal.

"I just need more time, Jack." 

He was pleading now, begging for that time.

"Time is something we don't have much of, Will." Jack's brow furrowed in a frown as he looked at the younger man. "You know that. We've got to strike quickly."

"But Hannibal hasn't given me anything I can use," Will said, running a hand through his dark curls in a gesture of frustration. "He hasn't actually come out and _said_ that he's the Chesapeake Ripper. And he hasn't admitted to anything that he's done."

"Then we're going to have to find another way to trap him," Jack said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "We can't keep playing this cat and mouse game with him."

Will nodded reluctantly, acquiescing to Jack's words.

The other man was right. They couldn't keep going like this, playing for time, waiting for Hannibal to trip up, or to make a move to commit another murder.

He couldn't keep up the civilized dance he was doing with Hannibal, trying to make the other man believe that he was turning into an acolyte, the same kind of conscienceless monster that Hannibal was. Sooner or later, he was going to crack.

He had the feeling that Hannibal was waiting for just that to happen, waiting for him to make one wrong move, take one wrong step. And then it would all be over.

He needed more time to carry this off, more time to trap Hannibal, to back him into a corner. But they were running out of time. There was less of it every day.

They would have to show results if they wanted to keep going down this road, and so far, there weren't any. Things would have to be pushed, come to a head, and there would have to be some kind of confrontation. If there wasn't, then they would have failed.

The problem was that he didn't _know_ how to drag the words he needed out of Hannibal. He couldn't force the other man to confess to what he was.

A serial killer. A cannibal. A murderer with no redeeming qualities.

He'd tried his best to get that confession, to make Hannibal talk about what he was, what he had done. But thus far, it hadn't happened.

All he needed was more time. But time was running out rapidly; Will knew that at best, he only had a few more weeks. Maybe even only a few more days, judging from the look on Jack's face. This had to come to an end, more quickly than he wanted it to.

"We don't have the luxury of time now, Will," Jack told him, his face grim. "If we're going to do this, it has to be done _now_. As soon as possible."

There was no more time. He had to do something, or go back to square one.

Will nodded, knowing that Jack was right. Their time had run out.


	13. Bitter Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wonders how long it will be before he makes a mistake and Hannibal discovers just how he's been deceived.

Will wasn't sure of which way to turn, which road to head down.

There wee different directions that he could take this game with Hannibal, and he wasn't sure which one of them would be the best decision.

At this point, he wondered if he was even capable of making that decision. He was deeply involved in this deception now, and he had to see it through until the bitter end, whatever that might be. But he didn't know if he was strong enough to keep up the facade.

Had Hannibal already seen through him? He didn't think so. He was becoming fairly good at sidestepping and evasion, and he didn't think Hannibal was wise to him yet.

But it would only be a matter of time before his deception was discovered.

The very thought of that terrified him. He knew that he couldn't keep this up forever; and he also knew that sooner or later, he would stumble and let the mask slip away.

When that happened, his bitter deception would be out in the open, and he had no doubt that Hannibal would be furious and try to exact retribution. He had to be prepared for that -- and he also had to hope that he would have enough evidence to put Hannibal behind bars before it happened.

If he didn't, then he could be playing games with his very life. He felt as though he was now; the knowledge almost choked him whenever he thought about it.

Being afraid was a weakness, but it was one that he couldn't put aside. Fear was a good thing, Will told himself. It kept him from being too cocky, too confident.

Fear could be seen as a weakness, but it could also be what kept him alive. It would keep him from being too sure of himself, overstepping any boundaries that had been set around him. Fear would make him hold back when he needed to do so, rather than take risks.

He hoped that his fear wouldn't become a debilitating weakness in this game, and that it wouldn't make him hold back at the crucial moment.

If it did, then this whole gamble had been for nothing.

He didn't want to believe that. He didn't want to feel that he had laid out this plan and was carefully trying to carry it out to the best of his ability, only to see it ultimately fail.

No, this plan _had_ to work. They _had_ to get some sort of confession out of Hannibal, had to put him behind bars. Not only for Will's own sense of justice, but for everyone that Hannibal had harmed in the past, and could harm in the future.

He was sure that Hannibal would discover his deception at some point. He just wanted that discovery to come _after_ they'd made the arrest.

If it came before then, then this whole thing could blow up in his face.


	14. Last Rites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will muses about the death of his so-called "friendship" with Hannibal.

There was really no reason for him to feel guilty.

Hannibal was the one who should be feeling guilt for all that he had done, both to Will and to others, but there was no way _that_ was going to happen, Will told himself bitterly.

That monster didn't give a damn about all the harm he'd caused, all the pain he'd inflicted. He didn't care about anything but getting what he wanted, satisfying his own macabre desires. Hannibal had no soul, no decency. He should have known that long ago. He should have realized that when he first looked into Hannibal's eyes.

Why hadn't he been able to see that there was nothing there, no soul, no emotion? Why hadn't he been able to recognize the emptiness that had lurked behind that steady gaze?

He should have been able to look beneath the calm surface, beneath the mask of humanity that Hannibal always wore. He should have been able to realize that there was something horribly wrong with this man, something that wasn't quite right. But for once, his much-vaunted empathy seemed to have failed him.

Hannibal thought they had a relationship, even a friendship. He thought that they could repair what had been tipped apart when Hannibal had framed Will and put him through hell.

But the last rites had been said over that so-called "friendship" long ago.

In a way, part of him mourned for that friendship. When he and Hannibal had first met, he had felt that he'd made a connection, that someone actually _understood_ him in some ways.

He now realized that Hannibal had only pretended to care about him, that he had only been a kind of experiment for the other man. Hannibal was only interested in seeing how far Will could be pushed before he tumbled over the edge of sanity; he hadn't cared about how Will had felt, or who he was.

Hannibal had never been his friend. A friend wouldn't deliberately give someone a potentially fatal disease, simply to see what the ongoing effects of that disease would be.

A friend wouldn't frame someone for crimes that they themselves had committed, and then act as though they felt sympathy for the person whose life could have been taken from them if they had been convicted of those crimes.

Hannibal was nothing more than a monster, and Will knew that he had been foolish to trust him in any capacity. But then again, Hannibal was also good at hiding his monstrousness behind a mask of humanity, at making people believe that he was a benevolent presence rather than a malicious one.

He was very good at showing people what he wanted them to see -- and what they wanted to see, Will reflected. He should know. He himself had fallen prey to Hannibal's machinations.

Well, that wasn't going to happen again. He was a lot smarter now.

He intended to expose Hannibal's evil to the world, to show everyone just what he was really like. And he wanted Hannibal to spend his life behind bars, with no possible way or ever getting out.

He _would_ find that proof, and he _would_ have his revenge. He was working on doing that right now, and he was sure that his efforts would pay off. They had to, Will told himself firmly. If they didn't, then his very life could be forfeit -- especially if Hannibal ever found out what was really in his heart.

Then, the last rites might be performed for _him_ , and that was the last thing that he wanted to happen. He had avoided that once already, and he didn't intend to fall into any more of Hannibal's traps.

Their game of cat and mouse was only beginning, and Will had to admit that he was already tiring of the dance steps. The two of them circled each other warily, like cats who were ready to fight, their fur up, only moments away from hissing and spitting. He had to wonder just when they would pounce.

Did Hannibal know just what he was facing? Will didn't think so, and that would work to his advantage. But he had to be very, very careful to hide the truth from Hannibal until the very end.

When that end came, he hoped that Hannibal would be an inmate, and he would have his revenge at last.


	15. Outlook Stormy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try as Will might to decipher what the future holds for him, the outlook isn't good.

The future didn't look clear to him. Not at all.

Somehow, Will had thought that it would. He'd thought that he would know what to do, which way to turn to deceive Hannibal, and that this would all be over quickly.

But that wasn't going to happen, he realized now. It wasn't going to be easy to get Hannibal to admit what he was, even if he thought that Will was becoming his acolyte.

Hannibal was too used to dissembling, to hiding what he truly was. Will was sure that he hid that even from himself, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was a murderous monster and trying to formulate reason in his own mind why killing and eating human beings wasn't a horrible thing to do.

He was a psychopath, and he had to be stopped. Will knew that. But he was beginning to doubt his own ability to do so, even with Jack's help. He couldn't seem to move forward.

It felt as though every time he came up with a way to force Hannibal into a corner, to make him talk about what he was and the things he had done, Hannibal neatly sidestepped him.

The bastard could find a way to avoid talking when he wanted to.

Though, of course, he still expected them to continue their sessions, and to have Will talk to him. And it was getting hard for Will to hide the fact that he found Hannibal repulsive, and even frightening.

How much longer would he be able to keep up this act, to pretned that he was falling under some kind of spell and that he didn't hold Hannibal responsible for a series of reprehensible murders? He didn't think he could keep doing this for much longer; at some point, he was going to crack under the strain.

He was already showing signs of doing that; he had never slept well, but now, he barely slept more than a couple of hours a night at a time, if that. He would fall asleep, then jolt awake and lie there for hours.

Try as he might, he couldn't feel that he was achieving his goal.

He had so badly wanted to capture Hannibal, to make him confess, or better yet, to catch him in the act of carving up a body. He didn't want to see that, but he had no choice.

Will didn't want any more people to die, and he knew that as long as Hannibal was free, they would. He had no doubt that this man was the Chesapeake Ripper, that he was a monster walking amongst them.

He might not have incontrovertible proof yet, but he would. He knew, he just _knew_ , that Hannibal had body parts somewhere in his house. Will might not know where they were kept, but they _were_ there, and at some point, he would have the freedom to explore the house and find them.

Once he did, then Hannibal would be caught. There would be no explanation he could give, nowhere that he could turn and run to. He would finally be put behind bars, where he belonged.

Then, and only then, would Will be able to relax his vigilance, to let down his guard. When Hannibal was finally caught and his guilt was proven, then he would be vindicated.

But until then, he had to live with the feeling that there were storm clouds hanging over his head, ready to start pouring down rain and troubles on him at any time. He would have to continue feeling that he was a hapless fly that was circling dangerously close to a spider's web that he might not be able to fight his way out of.

He couldn't help feeling that Hannibal was watching him just as closely as he was watching the other man, not quite trusting him, just waiting for him to slip up and make one wrong move.

If he did, if he let his guard down for one moment, then he would be dead. He didn't doubt that Hannibal would kill him and hack up his body without a second thought.

After all, Hannibal had already tried to kill him once, hadn't he?

He had induced those seizures, and he had literally given Will encephalitis just to see how far he could go with it. If the disease had killed Will, Hannibal wouldn't have cared.

Will's lips twisted derisively at the thought. No, Hannibal wouldn't have cared whether he had died or not, he would simply have considered it an unfortunate turn of events. Hannibal wasn't capable of caring about anyone but himself; he was a serial killer, no more than conscienceless monster.

He was lucky to have escaped that monster once, and most people would say that he was insane to have done what he was doing now and thrown himself back into the abyss that he had only recently climbed out of.

But if he didn't, then there would be more deaths, and he would, in a way, be responsible for them.

He didn't want that on his conscience. He couldn't let Hannibal stay free to kill more innocent people. He couldn't put those lives at risk, not now that he _knew_ Hannibal was the Ripper.

Still, forcing his nemesis into a corner and getting the proof he needed to put bars around him for the rest of his life was going to be the hardest thing Will had ever done.

He'd thought that it would be fairly simple, once Hannibal believed that he had crossed over to the dark side and was turning into what Hannibal wanted him to be. But Will could see that the outlook in that regard was stormy; he had a hard time discerning whether or not Hannibal was falling for his act.

Sometimes he was sure that he'd made a wrong move, that his act was coming to a premature end and that he would feel the sting of a knife stabbing him in the back at any moment.

And at other times, he was sure that all he needed was one more push, just one tiny movement, a few well-placed words, and that Hannibal would fall into the trap that Will and Jack had set for him.

So far, that hadn't happened. But he had to keep trying.

If he didn't, then there were sure to be more deaths -- and he knew all too well that his own could very well be amongst them if he wasn't careful. Hannibal would kill him with no regrets.

He didn't fool himself into thinking that Hannibal would have any kind of regard for him if he found out that Will was simply faking it, pretending that he was changing. Hannibal would be enraged at such a betrayal, and he would do whatever he saw fit to make the person perpetrating it pay, and pay dearly.

Yes, the outlook was most definitely stormy and blurry for him. Try as he might, Will couldn't tell what the future would hold. He'd simply have to forge ahead, and hope that his plan was successful.

Will just hoped that his plan didn't backfire directly in his face.


	16. Writing the Handbook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wishes that he had some kind of guide to help him know where to go from here.

There was no handbook for what he was trying to do.

There were no rules to follow, no path that had already been blazed that he could stride down. He was making this up as he went along, hoping that he was doing the right thing.

Will sighed softly, running a hand through his hair as he glanced towards the doorway. In just a few moments, Hannibal would here, ready to start their session.

Could Hannibal see through him? Was there some subtle change in his attitude, some things that he did or said that let the other man know how repulsed Will was by just being around him? Was it possible that Hannibal was on to him, and was simply playing a game of cat and mouse?

If that had happened, then Will knew his life didn't mean much any more. Hannibal was simply waiting to deliver the _coup de grace_ , to take his life and discard him.

His lips thinned into a straight line, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't going to let this .... this _animal_ defeat him.

Hannibal was going down, and Will would be the instrument of that defeat.

This kind of evil couldn't be allowed to keep existing in the world, roaming free and harming innocent people. Hannibal had gotten away with that for far too long.

It was past time for his evil to be put behind bars, to be neutralized. Will himself had suffered for it, and there were so many others who had died by Hannibal's hand who hadn't deserved that fate. He was going to avenge all of them, and he would have no qualms about doing so.

Tonight was the night that he planned to take his supposed "transformation" one step further, to make Hannibal think that he had turned into the conscienceless killer he was pretending to be.

The next step of his plan would be put into motion.

Once Hannibal actually _believed_ that he was a killer, that he could and would kill without regrets, he would be one step closer to telling Will what he himself had done.

And once Will had any kind of a confession from Hannibal about the Chesapeake Ripper murders, then he could make an arrest. He _was_ an FBI agent, after all, and he didn't have to be with other agents when he arrested a suspect -- especially if he had a definite confession.

He wanted that confession so badly he could almost taste it, feel the words on his own tongue. He wanted nothing so much as to hear those words coming from Hannibal's thin lips.

But again, there was no handbook for what he was trying to do. He had no idea of how to get that confession to come out, or even if it ever would.

And if it didn't, then his entire plan went up in flames. He _needed_ that confession from Hannibal; everything that he wanted to do centered around that. If Hannibal wouldn't talk about the atrocities he'd committed, if he kept his crimes to himself, then Will's plan crumbled to dust.

Without that confession, he had nothing. There would be no way to keep Hannibal behind bars, or even to convince anyone else that he _was_ the Chesapeake Ripper.

He had convinced Jack, but Will wondered how long that would last.

Jack was along for the ride at the moment, but there was no telling how long he would stay there. And no one else was going to believe him without solid evidence.

Chilton and Beverly both had -- and look where it had gotten them. Oh, Hannibal might not have killed Chilton with his own hands, but he had set up the scenario that had put the man behind bars in his own institution, and he might as well have pulled that trigger rather than Miriam Lass.

Hannibal had set everything up so carefully and skillfully that there were no gaps, no seams, no way for Will to find a way into those scenarios and tear them apart, expose Hannibal's part in them.

But Will didn't want those people to have died for nothing.

He wanted their deaths to be attributed to the monster who had killed them, laid squarely on his head. He wanted the world to know just what Hannibal Lecter was.

He was the only person who could unmask the reptilian monster he was dealing with. No one else knew Hannibal in the way that he did -- and Hannibal wasn't obsessed with anyone else.

That was the most frightening part of this -- knowing that he was the object of a cannibalistic murderer's obsession. But even though it terrified him to realize just what he had gotten himself into, he would see it through until the end. He had no other choice now. He was in too deep.

And he _wanted_ to see this through. He wanted revenge for himself, too. He wanted to see Hannibal in the same place that he'd been such a short time ago.

He wanted Hannibal to feel the same despair he'd felt, to know what it was like to lose his freedom and to think that he would spend the rest of his life behind bars.

Though that wouldn't really be ample revenge. Nothing would.

If only there was some kind of guide to help him! But it was no use wishing for something that he couldn't have. He would have to do this on his own.

He would just have to write his own handbook as he went along with this, and hope that it would stand him in good stead. Will closed his eyes, gathering his resolve around him like a suit of armor. In the distance, he could hear footsteps coming back to the room he occupied.

He would sit here and talk to Hannibal, and hope that he could hide his true feelings and his intentions. If he couldn't, then he was in more danger than he had thought he would be.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to face Hannibal as his nemesis entered the room.


	17. An Acceptable Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will isn't sure if being more social is an acceptable risk for him.

"I see that you still haven't put the glasses aside."

Hannibal sat down across from Will, raising his brows in what appeared to be a question. Will's hand went to his glasses, but he didn't take them off.

"You know why I wear them," he said, knowing that he sounded defensive. This wasn't the way that he'd wanted this conversation to go. "I need a shield."

"You don't _need_ a shield to isolate you from the world, Will," Hannibal told him, his voice strangely gentle. "You _want_ it. There's a huge difference between wanting to hide yourself away, and having a _need_ to keep yourself hidden. You merely want to avoid social situations. You don't have a need to do so."

"You have me all figured out, don't you, Hannibal?" Will answered. His tone sounded sarcastic, even to his own ears. This conversation was already spiraling downhill at a rapid rate.

"No, Will, I don't." Hannibal's shoulders rose in a shrug. "It would take me quite a long while to figure you out in every way. You are, as I've said before, a very complicated man."

Well, he couldn't deny _that_ truth.

"I guess I am, in some ways," Will said carefully, wanting to keep the conversation going. He was veering into tricky waters here; he didn't want to reveal too much of himself.

But hadn't he already done that, during the long talks that he and Hannibal had shared before everything had gone to hell? This man knew him far too well.

"Being around other people involves risk, Will," Hannibal told him, leaning forward, those dark eyes seeming to pierce directly into Will's consciousness. "You have to be willing to accept that risk. Other people can hurt you, but social contact is something that everyone needs."

"I'm still trying to decide if being social is an acceptable risk for me," Will told him, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture that indicated he didn't want to talk about this any more.

"You really don't have a choice, you know," Hannibal told him, his tone somewhat admonishing. "In your line of work, you have to deal with people in many ways."

"But that's work," Will pointed out. "Being social isn't something that I have to do in my time off. I only do it when I _choose_ to." _Or when I'm not given an easy way out_ , he added silently. He wouldn't say those words aloud. He didn't want clue Hannibal in on his thoughts.

"Or when you feel that you're forced to," Hannibal said with a wry smile. "Oh, I know that you don't particularly like being social, Will, even when you come to my parties."

So much for Hannibal not knowing what he was thinking. Will couldn't keep back a soft sigh; how did this man always seem to know what he was thinking?

"You've got me there," he admitted. "I've never been very social. You know that."

"It's a risk that you need to take, Will," Hannibal told him, his tone serious. "You can't move forward in this world unless you push yourself. And you, my friend, are merely treading water."

"It's a risk that I"m not ready to take," Will muttered, not looking at the man sitting across from him. This conversation was making him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.

"It is a risk that you must accept, Will," Hannibal said, his voice almost stern. "You cannot keep isolating yourself. If you do, then you are falling into a trap of your own making, and not even I will be able to help pull you out of it. You cannot let yourself fall into that trap. Not if you want to be .... of use."

He didn't have to ask what Hannibal meant by that. Those words meant that Hannibal had plans for him, that he thought Will's loyalties were to him, and him alone.

Hannibal intended for him to be of use to him, and he was sure that he knew what that use would be. Hannibal was going to use him as his instrument. His patsy. His fall guy.

But he wasn't going to let that happen.

"Okay, I'll accept the risk," he said, feeling his way carefully, unsure of exactly what he should say now. "But don't expect to push me into a social whirl right away. I'm not ready for that."

Hannibal's brows raised again, but this time, the questioning look was accompanied by a somewhat smug smile. "I think that I have just the social even for you to take your first steps into."

Uh oh. Will already regretted this. He didn't think he was going to like whatever Hannibal would suggest.

But he'd said that he was willing to accept the risk, so he really had no choice, did he? And he had to convince this man that he would do what he was told.

Taking a deep breath, he said the only thing he could. "I'll be there. Just tell me when and where, and I'll do my best to be social. Even if it's not going to be easy for me."

There. He'd accepted that risk, at any rate. He just hoped that he didn't regret doing so.


	18. Searching So Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is determined to play his deadly game with Hannibal through to the end, no matter how hard it may be for him to keep up the pretense.

"I've never liked parties. I just don't feel comfortable at them."

Will fidgeted as Hannibal reached out to adjust his tie; he wanted to shrink away from those hands, but he knew that he had no choice but to accept the gesture.

Hannibal straightened the bow tie of Will's tuxedo, then stepped back and tilted his head to the side, regarding the younger man with a smile.

"Well, you may not be entirely comfortable in a suit, or amongst people, but you look absolutely wonderful, Will," he said, his voice soft and entirely admiring. Try as he might, Will couldn't hear any edge of mockery in those words; Hannibal apparently meant what he said.

 _That_ was certainly something new. Hearing admiration coming from Hannibal wasn't something that he was used to, and he couldn't hold back his own smile.

 _Careful_ , he told himself. _Don't let yourself fall into the trap of thinking that Hannibal is a good guy who's on your side. You know that he isn't._

Oh yes, he knew that all too well.

"Thanks," he murmured, managing a small smile. He really didn't want to go downstairs and circulate among all the people he knew would be here, but he had no choice.

This was what he had to do to make Hannibal believe that he was an obedient little automaton who was under the spell of his so-called "mentor," he reminded himself.

He could pull this off. He _would_ do it. And in the end, he would either gather enough evidence to prove that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, or he would get the man to confess to at least some of the killings within his hearing. Then he could arrest Hannibal, and his job would be done.

It wasn't going to be easy to carry out that plan. He'd known that from the start. But he _had_ to do it. He had to put Hannibal behind bars. His sanity depended on doing so.

"I know that this isn't easy for you," Hannibal said softly, his gaze fixed on Will's face. "But you need to get past your dislike of socialising, Will. You need to be more open with people."

"You know I've never been good at that," Will protested, shaking his head and sighing. "But I"ll try, Hannibal. I know you want this party to go over well." He actually meant those words, he told himself wryly. He _would_ have to try to be social tonight, whether he liked it or not.

"I know you will," Hannibal told him, reaching out to smooth back an errant curl from Will's forehead. "I love that you are trying to be what I want you to be, Will."

Hannibal loved that, and he himself hated it, Will thought, almost wanting to laugh. But he didn't dare. That would give the game away, and alert Hannibal that something wasn't quite right.

He had to be careful, and watch his back at all times.

Hannibal moved closer to him, his voice low when he spoke. "I have been searching for someone like you for a very long time, Will. And you are turning out to be all that I could have dreamed of."

Will forced another smile, feeling more than ever that he wanted to shrink away from Hannibal. This wasn't a situation that he'd been prepared for, and he didn't know what to say.

He tried to make his tone light when he spoke. "I just hope that I won't say or do something gauche at your party. Don't be surprised if I do. You know I'm not used to these big shindigs. A quiet party with just a few friends is more my speed. I might feel like I need to clam up at some point."

Hannibal shook his head, smiling. "You won't, Will. I'm sure of it. You are becoming more open every day. I believe that you will eventually overcome your dislike of being social."

"You think?" Will laughed softly, knowing that Hannibal was dead wrong.

By the time he got over that dislike, Hannibal would be long behind bars, and he would be old and grey. Even then, he didn't think it would happen.

He'd never be comfortable around people. He never had been, and that fact didn't bother him. He had long since been able to accept the fact that he simply wasn't a social being.

Hannibal might think that his search was over, and that he'd found the perfect patsy -- but Will was going to prove him wrong about that. This time, _he_ was going to be the one to weave a spider's web, draw Hannibal into it, and trap him there in those sticky threads.

This time, _he_ would be the winner of the constant battle that the two of them waged. He wasn't going to lose. Not again. This time, he'd come out on top.

"Are you ready?" Hannibal asked him, stepping back and indicating the doorway with a gesture. "It's nearly time for the first guests to begin arriving."

Will nodded, taking a deep breath and exiting the room ahead of Hannibal.

As he moved down the stairs, he couldn't help but think of Hannibal's words. _I've been searching for someone like you for a very long time._ Had there been others in this position before him?

That was something he would have to look into, Will told himself as Hannibal moved to the front door to open it and admit the first guests. He needed to dig into Hannibal's past.

That could be dangerous, but he was willing to take the risk.

He had an idea that what he would find there could give him more insight than he'd bargained to have.


End file.
